Under Pressure
by maleV
Summary: Working for the B.S.A.A., S.O.U., and under a captain like Chris Redfield, has its advantages, but a certain sniper has a breaking point. What lengths does he go to to escape the pressure.
1. Chapter 1

**New story in request from FanGirl! Hope you guys enjoy it. And please excuse my recent poor writing. Just got over a second round of illness that is killing me. As always, Nivanfield doesn't belong to me, but Piers Nivans is locked in my basement and no one else can have him for their evil plans to give him a random PIS ending like in RE6!**

**Thank you all for continuing to read my stuff, glad you do! Please remember to review if you like or dislike. I always like getting feedback and it helps with the creative process.**

**ENJOY!**

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It started out easy.

No fear.

Its easy not to be scared or anxious when there is no one's life on the line, but when you've stepped out of the curtains and into the lime light, displayed your prowess over and over in the field without hide more hair of even the slightest tremor, in mentality or physically, every eye suddenly is on you. So its easy. In the beginning. No one counting on you to be perfect when you are just a grunt, just showing your worth every second of every day until the big guy shows up is what you are suppose to do. You turn them down too, one by one, waiting for the perfect opputunity to prove those sharp as a tack senses are made for the ease and manipulation of every day battle. You wait, bide your time, even though you know it won't take long because you are that damn good, that eventually they'll show; with your file coddled in the nook of his massive bicep and huge pectorals, watching you on the range with those narrowed, suspicious eyes. As though he thinks you aren't made of the right kind of stuff. Hard to prove you are from day one if you are ten years younger than every man out there, but then its hard for everyone, particularly for the guys you keep showing up. Again, from day one, learning to prove yourself has to be priority. Never missed. Not from day one at the academy to that moment where those eyes watch and wait until they'd seen enough to haul your ass down to an empty office for only one question: "Are you ready for this?" A damn fine question. The only one that mattered at the time. Were you ready to move from no one relying on your to everyone. To having men expecting you to back their every motion. There's no hiding from hundreds of thousands of scrutinizing eyes all belonging to someone higher up the food chain than you are. Everyone waiting for you to fuck up because from day one you show them you aren't the kind to throw in the towel. Thi kind of step was the one that made or broke men like Pies Nivans. So was he ready for that?

Darn right he was.

At least, that's what Piers had thought when he started this gig. When he'd said yes and smiled those full pouty lips, taking in every minute expression on Captain Chris Redfield's features as he'd answered the question without a second's delay. "You are either the luckiest little shit I've ever met... or the most unfortunate." He could still remember the words on Chris' lips while he was sitting across from him, his hands untouching, but clenched into taut fists, practically white knuckled. Maybe he'd been more concerned over Piers' quick response than the sniper had been, but you don't train rigorously like he had for years only to back out once you had what you wanted in sight. Even if back then his captain had considered Piers joining up with the B.S.A.A. to be a mistake. He didn't think someone so young with such high ideals to belong to a group where he would likely die within the first six months, and in all honesty if Piers had taken the time to think about it, maybe he would have agreed with him, it was a bad idea for anyone, but someone had to do it. Someone had to be responsible. And him, he was just talented enough to be that person.

That was why he hadn't expected this feeling whatsoever. Sitting on a chopper listening to the mixed voices of all his men throwing around 'never miss Nivans' jokes. Floating around between each of them over who had earned the best 'saved by the sniper' story; while he tried his damn hardest to not let the race of his heart beat show too clearly to these well trained perfectionists. It wasn't even the fear of getting one of them killed that had him concentrating on the tiny orange bottle in his rigging that nestled against extra rounds, the circular pinkish hued pills that silently clicked together in their tiny prison. It was those jokes. He'd proved himself a few times over now, it wasn't that he couldn't back up his men. It was just the anxious hype. The talk about how their very own little rookie sniper wouldn't ever miss, no matter the cost. Things like that. Even experienced snipers could miss a target and manage to completely back up their team mates, without incident. But he had never missed. Those sharp eagle eyes that caught every single detail and hadn't ever even dropped a round without it having someone's name on it. He was a fine sniper yes, but they were getting cocky, and the more cocky his men were about his abilities, the harder it was getting to maintain his blood pressure from sky rocketing every time his guys expected him to save their asses. That was the issue. Before they weren't expecting it, they were constantly vigilant. Not now, now they anticipated his perfect ratio and how his shots flew flawlessly passed them while hitting their intended target without so much as a single ounce of hesitation; making them ever more sloppy. So there was Marco Rose, Ben Airhart, and Captain Christopher Redfield..., three of the most experienced and most talented soldiers in their respective fields. Men who had been earning the respect from every agent in the B.S.A.A. for longer than Piers had been alive, and they weren't chatting about their what they were going to do once they came back, how life back home was; they were gloating about their little rookie. As though he was incapable of fault. Was he really incapable of failure?

Thinking about that bottle... It was the truth of the matter..., that _he_ didn't think so. With men like these looking at you, up to you, it was impossible to hide the anxiety for long. His Major for the longest time had suggested things to the other snipers in the academy. So why did he feel so guilty when he'd finally fallen under its temptations? Every sniper in the academy were taking things to lower their pressure, get rid of the shakes. It was an easy out trick. Clonazapam. Drug of choice for many. So getting his hands on it hadn't been hard. Not physically, but the first time he'd stuffed a pill down his throat he'd thrown it back up within seconds. All he could hear was the disappointment in his captain's voice for having let him down. It wasn't as though it were some thing that would seriously inhibit him, they sharpened the senses. Anti-anxiety medication that was over the counter but not prescribed because once a sniper is known to take it then it went in your file and incompetence in the field. Maybe that was why it made him so sick. Because it made the fact that he wasn't good enough a reality. Those round rogue pills settling in the back of his thoughts and begging him to pop one down and take it even now just to get those men out of his didn't care what anyone in the academy thought, they wouldn't have looked at him differently for this, it was just enough to take off the edge. At least it had started that way. Recently he'd started thinking about them more and more, whenever it was that he saw someone looking at him as though they knew he was a fake. Whenever mahogany eyes would settle on him and suddenly his heart threatened to stop in his chest midway through a mission.

Chris.

So it wasn't just the fact that everyone in his crew was expecting perfection from him every second of every mission. Those guys were his crew yes, but they weren't who really mattered. It was the captain. The way he gave him those approving eyes he sought for every time he nailed a shot and their mission was over. This experienced, heroic man, looked to him and no one else that way because he'd earned it, and once he tasted that euphoric feeling... he never wanted to come down from it. Chris would wrap an arm around his shoulders and offer them all out for drinks, lean in close and tell Piers he shown like a damn star out there. He liked to call him that. His star. To everyone else, Piers was a sharp as hell, lucky little rookie, but to Chris he was a star. And it showed. At first the Clonazapam had settled his nerves and kept him in the moment, focused on that hand sliding up his back over his neck, but after a while even that wouldn't do it, one pill, two, however many it would take to make his hands stop shaking. Chris would ruffle his hair, and smile ever so coyly; all the more approvingly whenever the brunette would apologize and ask a rain check for their drink before he couldn't even breath in the man's grasp. Chris liked whiskey, a little too much, but he liked that Piers didn't. He liked that his star was just that. Clean cut, and completely his. Though Piers wasn't sure the man knew he belonged to him. Everyone else could tell, probably because he was constantly burying his fist into the maws of other men for even nearing his captain, but Chris? Chris didn't know. He didn't need to, just keep on keeping on. Keep on getting twisted into knots.

Which meant so long as this continued... that the little bottle haunting his conscience would stay hidden away in his rig; his little secret.

* * *

"Lookin' good out there Nivans. Keep that up and we're gonna build ya' a freakin' statue." Rose slapped lean shoulders with his own gloved hand, throwing his rigging into the corner of the lockers, along with the stink of sweat; first tactical jacket, then S.O.U. regulations under shirt he wore, followed by black tank, four rigs, two hard rubber boots, socks, and boxers and fatigues in the same instance. Leaving this man with himself half balanced with one hand on his sniper's shoulder without any modesty at all for his nudity before it was off to the showers. Piers tried not to show the disdain for the affection but he hated it, and shrugged it off his skin, brushing gunner glove clad finger tips over that same shoulder and brushing away the germs of Rose's rutty hands. "What do you think boys, Nivans earning himself a rep around here? Where else don't you miss pretty boy? Never misses the toilet I'll bet!" Rose's bass was over the spray of water raining down on the other men, washing away the weeks of crimson mist that heralded their arrival. He was the last of them who would flood into the showers and away from their lockers, leaving the sniper staring in their direction for only a brief minute before his rough palm dove into his rig to retrieve the vermillion plastic bottle, shaking it. Two left. Taking in a deep breath, he heard the the tiny round pills clatter against one another before setting the bottle in his duffel tucking it possessively between layers of his spare clothing. Turning back to his locker to grab his jacket, Piers only flicked his eyes up to meet, instead of with his locker's innards, with slick war torn skin of huge broad pectorals. Hazel went wide and his olive skin immediately reddening, caught off guard as his captain had slipped completely unnoticed against his locker before his clean arm around wrapped around his limber, completely rigid shoulders, brushing wet fingers through longer strands pushed back to ruffle them.

"Hey super star, leaving without so much as a good bye huh?"

Holding him there against that stone built body, Piers' entire face flushed, hoping both his obvious rush of vital fluids to his face and otherwise went unnoticed. As well as the tiny bottle he'd stowed just before being stalked by a half naked version of the man who had all but held all responsibility for Piers will to continued inability to breath during missions. A quick slap of wet, calloused hand, to his slimmer shoulders and Chris released him, leaving the startled man to stumble back into his own locker that lay half open. Tanner flesh thank goodness hiding that dusky pink that tried to overtake his features. All the guys were like this with each other, but this was Chris, and he made a naturally stoic human being turn into a wordless commando, brows furrowed in concentration. "I...-

"How about you come out with us tonight. You spend all your time cooped up at the range I'm starting to think you sleep there Nivans. Come on. Its on me." Chris stood opposite his sniper, huge biceps held across taut against massive chest muscles with a his tapering waist that came along with those intoxicating 'V' lines that led teasingly downward toward the unknown. That dark green fabric of his towel only covered just enough though to let the imagination wander. With bulged thigh and calf muscles thicker than most men's; and all of him slick with the clean shine of humidity and shower water. Such a sight to behold, that Piers could never get use to it. He could keep composure after he'd collected it accordingly, but that didn't mean he could look a that square stubbled jaw and not think of what it might taste like. "Your captain is asking you Nivans, how often do you think that will happen?" Intimidating and awe inspiring as he was, Chris was staring down the younger tawny haired rookie with those hardened eyes, laughter written behind them where they were naturally impassive. It was as though it were a challenge between them. He would wait for Piers to finally raise his head from having his eagle sharp eyes trapped on the ground between them, to give him that small forgiving smile so he could remind him that he asks every time. And every time he has to remind him no. Except this time Chris wasn't waiting, and instead slammed one of those immense hands up against the side of the locker just at the side of that soft featured face, grinning down at him. "Come on hot shot, it's an order now, not a request." Chris' eyes were daring him, dazzling brown, and for a brief moment they stared at one another before Piers finally jerked his sharper eyes away.

"Sorry captain. I can't. I appreciate the offer, but-

"I said it was an order. You need to cut loose. Relax. Grab your shit and lets go Nivans."

"I can't." Eyes dashed to the bag, back to his captain who had removed his limb and had begun dressing in his civies; speaking with a tone that used the remaining force of his position within the team. Others who had started storming in, doing their own ongoing dance of transforming their persons into every day people rather than vicious soldiers. It was always no. And his captain tried harder each time but even as the words came out Chris' demand turned into a smile, and after pulling on a shirt that was obviously meant for much smaller men, ruffled Piers' hair out of place and shook his head, admiring his resolve even though it was managed through half-hearted words. "I've got some things I've got to take care of. Whiskey has never been my poison." No... that wasn't his poison; he was staring at that right now. It happened this way every fucking time and every time it ended the same. Three pink hue tablets would roll between his fingers from the new bottle at home and dropped into his mouth, chased by whatever was closest; down his throat. Lying back on the couch he would spend the next few hours staring at the backs of his hands and waiting for them to stop shaking. Or, Chris would relent here and go instead of continuing to push until Piers made him, and the sniper would spend the rest of the fucking night here, his thoughts going where they would. Hoping for them to turn away from his captain and sharpen his senses like they once.

Chris smiled, and that was the give away. Just a nod and a short adieu that was barely anything to talk about and the team would wave him off as they disappeared back to their own real life worlds and families. "I'll see you later Nivans... Eyes to the sky partner."

"Eyes wide open, captain." Piers sat back on the bench and watched as they retreated his smile fading with each of their steps. Hazel oculars never shifted from his captain's back; ruing the words even as he'd said them. The rest of his squad disappeared as they went off for victory drink, or in Rose's case to get one and drive home to his wife and kids, each one to their respective lives until the final click of the locker room door's tumbler sliding into place; closed shut and returning him to solitude and ruin. How had he turned into this person? Piers kicked his dropped duffel, took out the bottle, downed the last remaining pills, and found his rifle, resting his forehead on the muzzle. Another night on the range hoping and praying for his hands not to shake and his aim not to stray... one more night. Always one more night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Love for rookie Piers : )**

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The mission was a simple one and done. Eradicate the infected and find one; Viktor Cranzberg. A Russian scientist born and bred, with some government or another to blame for a tragedy that didn't matter. Someone always had a story for why they did what they did, but no sad sap biography about how the current government was responsible for the death of a wife, child, loved one, whatever the case was; would ever make bioterrorism a logical next step for revenge. How was it no one ever considered living to be revenge enough for their atrocities? Piers had had his fair shake of poorly witnessed events and childhood misgivings, but that didn't make him into a certifiable nut job. It made him strive to better himself, to save the people who had even once treated him like shit. Hell, he thanked half of them. Without it, he never would have strove to become this self made man with an agenda for justice. The question was, why couldn't more people see things that way? Instead of abandoning all their moral capacities and pretending human life meant nothing? Just imagine what these viral outbreaks really did... was it really worth being a psycho terrorist if eventually your creations would always try to come back and eat your flesh like the last main course in cell block six? Whatever the case was for this one, it was always the same, and his own personal brand of crazy had made him decide that apparently helping in the making of this new strain of virus would some how avenge whatever poor sap bit the dust. Whether this man had wanted out or was to be a prisoner, the captain of Alpha team didn't really know..., no the captain didn't care. None of them did. Too many missions that turned out the same way to give a shit what it was the terrorist actually wanted. They just had to get him back to the headquarters, that was the plan and that was all that mattered. Redfield had all his men up to date, debriefed and pulled in rank to the hum of the chopper blades that whirred above their heads. Just another day in the B.S.A.A...

The helicopter ride was routine, that wasn't what was bothering the rookie sniper; nor was it this sick twisted psycho in serious need of a lobotomy. Plenty of time to reflect on all that later, once they were back stateside. At the moment it was more about the inability to properly concentrate on the scenario before him. Like his brain was a rattle and the captain was shaking him left and right making his eyes bounce back and forth in his head. It was becoming harder and harder to focus himself during the debrief, his patience for hearing the particulars about suicidal tendencies of lunatics in the soviet country grating on his nerves. What should he care if a man trying to kill millions wanted to shoot himself if they caught wind of their ambush. That would make it easier for him. Bastard would be lucky if Piers didn't put a bullet in his face himself, let everyone guess which body belonged to their precious corpse creator. One shot of the one eyed beauty in his hands and he could rearrange that man's entire cranium and laugh watching it splatter. God, he was getting morbid... That's what was bothering him. He was worried his meds were starting to wear off quicker and quicker, and this time before the mission had even started. He hadn't been taking them that long, had he? Just a few missions where he couldn't keep his cool. Just a few times where his hands were starting to quiver listening to his captain gloating on the line, leaving shots to him intentionally that left his team wide open for assault because he had 'a star' in his midst. Chris' growing certainty in his abilities and added affection with every resounding bullet shot made it worth it though. Giving a smile and a ruffle of his bangs. Piers' mind wandered unintentionally from the debrief to the last mission when his captain had come up to him as he started to break down his weapon, gripped him by the front of his hair, pushed it back out of his eyes and leaned down so close he could breath in his musky body odor. Sweat and aftershave. He'd pulled his hair hard enough to make Piers think he'd done something wrong, forced with a jerk to raise his eyes, only to see a lop-sided grin on the man's chiseled jaw and face while he held him there, neck craned to look up at his his heart rhythm to stabilize from their added contact. 'You should slick these back ace... You'd probably shoot faster with these pushed out of the way.' He'd given a tug, one that made Piers heart race immediately and his legs begging to tremble. 'Well done, soldier... you really are my shining star, you know that?'

God he'd practically broken down right then and there. With the release of the strands of his hair, catching in Chris' gunner's gloves and a wink, the rookie sniper fell to his knees afterward and fought to hear anything but his own thundering heart beat in his smooth chest. Just hearing it made his whole body go into a cold sweat. The captain was warm like that with everyone though. Their captain was suppose to be, to know his men you had to be one with them. Piers was no exception. It didn't stop him from cutting his bangs shorter as soon as he'd been alone and putting a flip in them to get them out of his face for this mission. He'd been so pleased with himself he hadn't needed the pill, all night long he spent looking through his scope, ghosting a rifle in his empty hands as though it were there and noting the accuracy of what their captain had had to say. That was until the man had arrived late the next morning. They'd driven up together, him and his old partner. She dropped him just outside the hanger, Valentine giving him a pat on the shoulder, an apparent squeeze afterward. Her lips grazed his so briefly it could have been mistaken for an embrace, except when she went to leave, the captain took a possessive hold of her butt in one brawny large hand and squeezed. A resounding smack greeting his ears as a bulged forearm flexed and he gave her rear a spank when she turned to leave. Suddenly he wasn't half so confident and couldn't help the quiver in his muscles. Casting his face away from the scene laid out from the hanger, cursing himself for having done what he did just to please the man. When Chris joined them though, it was immediate. Hand on the jaw rather than fingers through tawny hair, tipping his head up by the chin to look over those fine features with a smirk on thin lips and nothing more than a pleased nod. It was enough. He'd popped one of the circular round tabs after that just to make his heart stop pounding in his chest and that was hours ago. The fear was he'd take it too early. Already his hands were shaking, tensed forearms hiding the effects; though not as visible to the others. He was more conscious of it himself, keeping his hands on his rifle to steady them. Loving the feel of the trigger against his finger and slipping a round in his mouth, ignoring a jab at him from Marco's direction. It was always easy to hide slightly shaking hands so long as he had his rifle.

"Damn boy, you're going to give the entire chopper a stiffy if you keep milking that baby like that. Shit if you were a woman, I'd take you right here and now. Lips like those, I bet you'd be damn good at sucking my thick co-

"Alright!" A thundering bellow cut off the lewd suggestion. Though more over it was a sickness in this crew like no other, even the captain looked at him funny when he put a round in his mouth and started sucking on it the first time. Couple of 'you have a girl at home, right Nivans?' And the captain was satisfied they weren't housing an 'undesirable' amongst them. So paranoid. Every one of them. But he'd seen what happened to soldiers in the army who were discovered to have an overly enthusiastic enjoyment for the company of their peers. No. No one needed to know, and in a few more months his shine would no longer appeal to their captain. He'd stop the way of constantly brushing up against him, touching his hair, his face, and things would go back to uncomfortably normal. He just had to pretend for a little while... the novelty would wear off eventually. Fuck who was he kidding... Eyes rose to the captain and his lop-sided scruffy jaw, watching his words rather than listening to them. "E.T.A., 30 minutes at the helipad on the hospital at the Northeast edge of town. Their building was evacuated for obvious reasons, and..." His words droned on, baritone thrum that rang through his chest like a bear. Captain Chris Redfield was an idol, and icon; his hero since he was a child and more over the object of his affection since the day he'd arrived in the Special Operations Unit. The day Chris had cherry picked him like his very own. There would be no pretending this feeling would fade. His heroics, and ardor wouldn't sway and in that manner, neither would Piers' unending desire to please him. "Nivans!"

"Hm?" Piers was shaken form his thoughts, sharp eyes jerking from their place on his mouth to meet Chris' eyes, an amused brow raised, nodding at the map in the middle of them, his finger pad firmly planted on their destination. Tongue flicking the sharper end of the round, he turned it in his mouth once, leaning forward to take a closer look, a snicker from their resident weapon's specialist over the hitch in their operational debrief. "This is where you're posted, Nivans. Understand? When we head out, you're staying put. Right there. You see anything moving that isn't breathing I want it put down. Make sure you watch our backs."

"Rookie boy still sitting back while the big boys do all the work." A round of laughter flooded, but was silenced by a single glare. Piers had a way with that. His eyes penetrated the hardest skinned soldier and quelled them to silence, even if he was a rookie. It made Chris reach out to ruffle his hair once, but stopped, grinning at the flip that was there and instead gave him a squeeze on the shoulder so tight it made his olive skin raise goosebumps, invisible beneath his regulation Special Operations gear. It made his chest flutter, even if it was true what just passed between Airhart's lips. Chris still didn't trust him. His excuse was that Piers was a sniper, eyes like none other, but he knew damn well what his scores were. He knew damn well what Piers was doing for the Black Ops back at the youngest age any sniper had been called into that force. He was capable of carrying his anti-material rifle without a spotter, on the move, without missing a shot in those days, and Chris had loved it. It was what drew him. A marksman who used a sniper rifle as his primary. One as powerful as the gun Piers carried. Yet here they were, leaving him behind again when he should have been in the field. It was the captain though, and what he said went, even if he wanted to retort; feeling those strong calloused fingers dig into his shoulder and give a small shake, intentionally meeting brown eyes so dark they were pits of black, to hazel ones that sparkled the second they met.

"Eyes to the sky, partner."

With a slight nod, Piers agreed, waiting for the contact to end. "Eyes wide open, captain." The sudden urge swept over him to throw back another little white pill the moment he had a spare second. It was their own thing, no one else had it, but the no one else had their captain's doting attention demanding him to make every shot. Eyes to the sky. Chris started saying that on his first day in training, when Piers passed the test the first time with record speed and hadn't barely had need to move from his position in the scaffolding above. Now he said it every time he was in the field and Piers was stationed high and above, meaning he was watching the sniper. Piers hadn't learned to respond until their third test when Chris chided him for not responding over the radio. Eyes wide open. He was watching Chris' back. He could feel his legs itching to move even as they sat there, hugging his lady rifle to his shoulder. He figured that when the others are heading out, he could take another to calm his nerves, just to get him through until the mission started and then he'd be fine, adrenaline would kick in and he would take it just like any other day. It was only three hours since the last, but an early dosage wouldn't hurt, not if they needed him to be sharp out there, to steady his hands just the slightest. He glanced at the rest of Alpha team as their orders were being handed out, weapons poised at the ready and armed with the clack and jerk of magazines being slammed into position in standard formation with their standard weapons all in a row like ducks. He gripped hold of his rifle tighter while Chris went on, reaffirming himself that this was all just another mission.

"Petroski is fairly large, but not large enough that we shouldn't work in teams. I want teams of two. Rose, Airhart, make sure you call it in when you make the way point. I don't want another incident like Tanzania." A nod. "Alright, everyone else pair off, I'll see you all on the other side."

Evacuating the chopper, Piers had his scopes up, marked each team as they came out with those detail oriented eyes and set up shop. Radio callbacks were thrown from each team to the next, lastly the sniper making sure he had eyes on the road ahead. Whilst teams secured the unused fire escape stairwell outside the hospital, Piers got to know his rifle intimately. Roof secured, exits all secured, and then work the weapon. Set the gauges with nimble fingertips, brushing each sweet spot for maximum accuracy. Judging the wind speed, the time of day, the spin of the earth, whatever made the difference in a shot that would potentially save a life. Gorgeous weapon, with a heavy after shock that rocked his body and sent fire through his veins. Calculating the distance from the hospital to the town, travel time for the gravity to pull down the bullet; Piers sighed, thrusting his hand into the depths of his rigs, coming free with the tiny orange bottle of pills, shaking it once listening to them clank against the plastic walls of their prison, setting it down beside him on the heavy tarmac of the chopper pad, placed carefully to the left of his rifle scope, capable of eying them without turning his head. Sweet relaxation. Gripping the bottle, thumb pad nudged up against the ridge of the white lid, force applied, it came loose with a pop, falling on the ground beside him. Emptying a single circular pill to the ground, replacing the cap again without use of his second hand, hugging the trigger guard of the rifle. Plucking up the white habit, he popped it into his mouth without a second look, sighing and letting it take effect on stilling his nerves whilst returning that sharpened gaze to the scope.

It was maybe a little over twenty minutes until the others made their appearance again; seen leaving through the doors of the hospital after taking care of whatever fun had given them cause to use an assault rifle inside. Captain Redfield deviating the teams in different directions using visible hand signs, discerned easily from the years in the service, Piers able to follow them with each with ease. They mingled well with their surroundings as a good unit should, and Alpha team was the best. The town was a bit of a way off, it left for time to get significant distance from one another, spread like a disease coming to wipe out Dr. Crazberg's immune system... the B.O.W.s. Thirty minutes after breaching and their team had come to the fringe of the city. Their men were just on the fringe of this dilapidated old town, stillness in the streets but for some snow and ice. His hands were shaking but not to the extent that he couldn't shoot, just the cold creeping up on him, so the sniper steeled his nerves and tugged his mesh scarf tighter about his neck to stave off the chill. He took hunters down left and right, helping the teams get out of some sticky situations if they were on the streets. It had been discussed, the size, but it was a wide range that he had to cover; took all his concentration to cover all their sixes and the grounds between them and the designated building that contained their target. Ordinarily no sniper could have done it, not alone. Piers smirked, his full tiers pulling into a curl at the corners, pleased with the warmth that spread through his chest knowing damn well... Captain Redfield trusted him, he just didn't trust the team. He wanted Piers' sharp eyes in the sky making sure they didn't fuck up. His captain always wanted him..., except when he didn't. It wasn't long after that, that the medication seemed to be wearing off once again. His usual sharpness died down, fingertips started to tingle, and his thigh cramped and began to twitch. His trigger finger itchy. His focus sought out another target, burying the tiny lever deep to the back of the weapon, a boom sounding out that ended with a splatter of the hunter close on Rose's tail. Not to be seen again. Another five more followed, until his neck started to ache. It wasn't until he took shot number twenty, sniping clean the road before his captain and a smile was shot up in his direction that made his heart flutter in his chest.

About another ten minutes after that, he had found that his mouth was dry, and the men of their team had started circulating through the buildings, cutting their E.T.A. by almost forty minutes. By that time, several muscles had started twitching; shoulder, legs. His breaths were coming more shallow as well, heart racing whilst a sweat broke out over his body. He could handle that... just like his first day handling a rifle back when he was a ten year old. Same thing would happen then too. It was when his hands started trembling that fear settled in. He looked at the pill bottle at least a hundred times in that minute before gripping it in a tightened grasp and popping the cap clean off, tossing back his head to dry swallow it, feeling the tiny white pill dragging down the inside of his throat, catching in his esophagus and taking its dear sweet time to take effect. What he wouldn't do for a long drink of water. Didn't to his job. Sitting his eyes up against that magnification that took him straight to the world he wanted desperately to be part of. Something had started in behind one of the teams while he wasn't looking but not eve seconds passed after re-situating his form, his lady let out another thundering crack through the air at his behest and it was shot it down without ever being noticed by those who traveled on ahead. He was doing well, though the number of enemies that had started to filter in on them, the resounding fire of gunshots, and flashes of muzzle fire had increased over time to the entire team. A firefight against monsters, and every few minutes he had stopped to take a drink and pop a pill. He lost track of the time. Soon it was every fifteen minutes the pill would stop working. His hands would become too shaky, would never stop even with every one that he downed until he was taking two at a time. His hazel eyes wouldn't focus right until the pills were down his throat.

With a shake of his head, lining up his sights, Piers swallowed, steadying his vision as their team disappeared inside the broken down warehouse that housed a thousand other possibilities, but also their target. Two teams stayed out, two in, and Piers covered the windows and doors, making certain nothing came in or out that wasn't his captain or members of Alpha team. A stockpile of deadened bioweapons had started to pile up outside the door, used like a shoot gallery that made for a perfect place to line them up and pick them off. Rose carried out his orders to the letter, making certain the back entrances stayed close to escape, echoing orders over the wire to his other team mates to move accordingly with those of the creatures they felled. Covering more ground by following the flow of those around them. Chris emerged a short time later out the lock down door with the scientist in tow, slung over his shoulder with shotgun in hand. Thrown to the ground, with all these creatures on the loose, the sociopath was desperate enough to stick with the men with the guns rather than his own little creations and modified genetic mutants. Piers didn't blame him, but he did want to put a bullet between his eyes. He watched them all as they reached the edge of town only to have to turn around. The bridges to the other side was blocked off. If anything went into the river, it would have been swept away, hopefully not moving, dead or undead anymore. It was a good thing the police thought of the barricades, though sometimes they didn't work against the fowl things. Not the bigger ones at least, like those loosed on them since the beginning of this tragedy.

Piers saw it before the others did. It was reaching out at the scientist who had started to fall behind toward the back of the group as the teams gathered round to head back up to where Piers was at, rendezvous orders called out over the wire by their fearless leader. Empty bottle to his left, sprawled on its side, the sniper's attention drifted from bottle to mission over a dozen times in as many seconds, wincing as his body felt goosebumps rising along his neck and spine. Without anything to steady his nerves, Piers tried to force his hand, narrowed eyes carefully trained on their single achievement. Getting the 'good' doctor back in one piece. With shaky hands, he took aim, following the man's head, his eye in particular where Piers tended to take aim, so he could see the life go out before the sound of the shot took effect. They were clear for the majority of the remaining run, most B.O.W.s taken whilst the captain had played hide and seek with the doc inside the broken down industrial building. All that remained were hiding, skulking along waiting for that perfect... moment-

The thunder of the shell bellowing from the barrel of the gun, hurtled at impressive speed, finding the creature as it leaped toward their protected target... clipping it's... shoulder?! "Shit!" Piers cursed lining up a second shot as the group all turned in on the beast, hugging the trigger without hesitation. Blood splattered everywhere, faces turning away as half the team threw an arm up over their faces to cover from the gore of that spent through the head. It was the last, Piers muffling a bellow of upset as he threw his radio like it was nothing, shattering it's casing it pieces against the wall of the hospital emergency stairwell, cursing through grit teeth and he stood and followed the radio with a fist, hearing the crack of three knuckles as his forearm flexed and buried his fist into the wall a second time. Clenching his jaw, he threw a final punch into the wall, hearing the dislocation at the same time as feeling it, crying out. No one would hear it, he'd busted the damn radio and they were still a ways off, even though the were clear. Fucking hell! His wrist already looked swollen, gripping it in his gunner's glove and wincing. Steadying himself, Piers looked at the injury, then toward the helipad where their transport would be coming in, aking a firm hold and several deep breaths. What was wrong with him? God it was just a single shot. He'd hit the damn thing at that, it was just through and through in the shoulder he first time. No one could see him like this. That was it, had to get himself together, no more of this..., no more pills, no more missed shots, or shaking hands. Get your shit together Nivans. Biting onto a piece of rigging, Piers settled his temper, and counted down from three, a quick grip on his wrist and a twist. "ARRRGH!" Piers winced, gritting his teeth looking down at his hand as it trembled from the wrench of his join, not hesitating to take his middle finger in hand and giving a jerk, the knuckle popping back in place, then the forefinger, and pinky. Salty tears bit the corners of his eyes, clutching the normally nimble appendage to his chest, short shallow breaths meant to steady his body. "Get it together..., come on soldier, get it together. Get your gun and lets go."

His temper couldn't have been that explosive.. to do so much damage to his own hand. He knew better. At least it wasn't his trigger hand, but that didn't change shit. Another outburst like that, he couldn't afford. No... no more pills. He glanced up at the sound of combat boots thundering up the emergency exit, spun, gripping his weapon and ignoring the pain, to train the weapon steadily on point. Mounting the steps, it was Airhart first, throwing up his arms. "Holy shit! Drop it Nivans. Come on man!" Both their guns lowered, Piers giving Airhart a nod, who shook his head at him like he was some kind of disappointment for being vigilant. Piers scoffed, until each memeber of their team followed up the steps, the final member Chris, flanking their delicate 'package.' The doctor was huffing for air, but Chris didn't give it to him, calling in to H.Q. for the E.T.A. on their pick up, and on transport for their hostage. He thought his temper was bad, with Chris howling orders at H.Q. it didn't take long for the helicopter to get there but it was enough time for Piers to straighten himself up and pick off any stragglers within the hot zone. As soon as they were on board and up in the air, it was Ben's turn to smirk and find Piers with his eyes, putting up a finger, a single one. "Looks like captain's little ace is losing his edge, huh? What's wrong Nivans, pressure finally gettin' to you? Maybe he shouldn't be here with the big boys captain. Going radio dark, pulling weapons on team mates. That's bullshit rookie. Maybe you should just stick to looking pretty and go back to pole dancing little girl."

Chris gave everyone including the joker a glare that shut up, grabbing hold of Piers shoulder like a vice grip, intentionally grabbing his attention from the window. "Happens to us all, Nivans." A firm grip tightened on Piers shoulder, unable to hide the disappointment in his own eyes, but Chris rose his hand to ruffle the flip in his hair, mussing it up until he managed to pull a shortened chuckle from his back on Ben, Chris shook his head, "Perhaps you forgot when you choked up Rose. It wasn't a pretty sight if I recall. Don't even try comparing. Nivans saved your ass out there, twice. Now fall in line." Piers never smiled openly at anyone, but he couldn't help but feel reprieve in his chest as his captain leaned his head back against the chopper walls and the sniper followed suit. It was nice of Chris to help the rookie out, but he still felt the disappointment in his own head and the throb of his hand complaining at him. No way that was just a dislocation, at least one of his knuckles broke on the second strike, it was throbbing in pain. Great. The relaxation faded as fast as it came for he had other secrets to protect from them now, not just missing a shot, or his unrequited affections for their captain; but a broken wrist as well. No need to tell them about that, it would become a far greater deal than he cared for his team to concern themselves with. He'd have to explain it to headquarters, inquiries made as to why he would fly off the handle that way. Staying silent when the 'copter landed, he finished with the procedures of returning quickly. He needed to get out of there.

As soon as he was released, the youngest of Alpha Team stared at his aching hand, and the rifle as he slowly closed his locker on. 'Isn't man enough to play with the big boys. Its okay boyscout, they might let you have a Bebe gun after that little stunt. Don't worry, its not like you could handle it anyway.' Marco's words didn't go lost on him, sighing until the clang of metal closing, drew him from the emptied locker room; moving through the next few hours in a haze. 'Captain has a dozen snipers lined up waiting for your position pretty boy. Can't wait to have a real man rather than little boy like you, Nivans.' Piers remembered the pain that snapped through his arm, rolling all the way up to his shoulder as his fist collided with Walker's cheekbone, blocking a simple left jab from the bastard, and returning it by slamming the man up against a locker, holding him there by the collar, half hoisted off his feet. 'Speak again Walker... let the rookie show you who's boss..' He remembered the tremble of the man before he scrambled to his feet after being dropped like a bag of rocks. Rubbing his fist, hazel eyes drifted up to the man who started at him, leather coat, extending a cigarette that went ignored. "They aren't working anymore..." he says softly. "I need something else... something stronger. Don't suppose you have something for this too?" Piers held up his hand, the man smirking and nodding his head knowingly.

"Got just the thing for you."


	3. Chapter 3

Chris had a tendency to watch Piers like a hawk, all rookies for that matter, but self confident ones who suffered a blow? He hadn't taken his eyes off the kid for days. It wasn't that he didn't trust his men, it was that he didn't trust people in general, not unless they had proven themselves for the last decade in a war against bioterror that only a handful of agents could even cope with, let alone maintain their standard life. Kid was confident, and self assured, always sought attention when he could, even if no one else could tell that his new sniper clearly was crying out for approval, where no one else seemed to give it to him. Piers wasn't a child though, and though Chris liked him well and good, he needed to harden up, just not in a way that would get them all killed. He was fit, strong, and took control of command. One might think, considering Piers as a rookie was almost redundant, and that Chris was thinking in oxymorons; attention seeking, leader. But it was possible, and even if no one could tell the kid wasn't as hardened as they considered him to be, he'd been in the game for a long while, he could see it when it kicked him in the face. the very reason for the Alpha team memo that they were going to be doing field training all damn day. If there was anything amiss on Captain Chris Redfield's team, he would make damn sure to snuff it out. The miss last mission brought sinking suspicions tht started crossing Chris's mind. Piers never missed before. A big jump to say that a rookie sniper never missed. But he didn't. Not ever. Mission or training, the young sniper made shot after shot, every damn day since the first, and the look on his face when he'd missed it was the very reason for this. If he had taken it relaxed and in stride, considering it wasn't even a miss, just not a kill shot; maybe the captain would have ignored it. But to look as pale as a sheet, as tan as agent Nivans was, for something so minor, was not to be ignored. There were quirks that gave away certain things. Keith Lumley's unfaltering swagger, Jill's talks about the future. Even Clive and how he'd always stroke his chin when thinking about something he couldn't quite put a finger on. If any of those things failed, you knew something was the matter, and Piers had a tell too. Several of them, and there wasn't anything minor when it came to bioterror.

Crossing massive forearms, one over the other with fabric constricting the clenched biceps of his large appendages; Captain Redfield overlooked the others as they filed in, spotting them through a careful eye; how they trudged in from their long night out on the town. "You boys look exhausted," he says; smiling in his tone at how his rookie seemed the only one in order, when in truth he was the only one that seemed to be struggling. Just not visibly. He needed to know what it was, nothing better to do that with, than to break them all down one by one. His voice is loud and clear across the field as they approached, bellowing from beside his nice gas guzzling, nine miles to the gallon, Hummer. "See, I was thinking to myself this morning, Chris why is your team dragging ass on the field?" There was an overall groan, men shuffling their feet as they tried wiping the bags from their eyes and the lead weights off their feet. Amusing to watch when they all knew what was going to come, seeing their captain in mission ready combat gear. Dressed to the collar in tactical gear, sleeves rolled up to show those firm straining muscles, lined with thick veins and clean shaven jawline, set and ready to go. Full packs lining the back of the Hummer. "We're going to go through some basic training. Seems like some of you can't even run a mile anymore. First thing, five miles, you know the track." No one moved, Andy jawing away about some broad riding him to hard last night he couldn't run properly if there was a gun to the back of his head. That was before a huge arm moved, lightning hawk directed in the face of adversity. "MOVE IT!"

Though almost everyone had begrudging thoughts, they turned around and took off. Such good men, every one of them, even if they were in great need of inspiration. The rookie helped. He worked longer, harder hours, pushed himself further than all of them. Regulars made the run harder, most of them lost their shirts by mile two, wearing nothing but fatigues, and combat vests just for the fucking hell of it. Piers was ahead of the pack, like normal, jogging, no running at a decent pace that made their team look bad with all his ambition. Chris led up the back, proper form, heading up the rear to make sure his men carried no stragglers. There was a clear discrepancy between the youth and his team, meaning everyone else spoke and jogged, whilst the sniper hauled ass and took point over trails and over and under trees like he was born to it. He was, but there was something wrong with that. Nothing showed now to warrant his suspicions, but he knew there was something wrong, he was never wrong about his gut. There was just this feeling. As he watched the man, Chris's mind started racing like crazy, rushing at a million miles a second, trying to figure something out, anything he could spot wrong with him. He started thinking of everything and anything that would cause the rookie to miss the shot. Somehow, he didn't think it was as simple as the young man losing his edge. Piers was sharp as a razor, he glowed in the darkness. Something about the younger man drew him in, made him want to give himself over to him. Help him to get over whatever this was that had taken a hold of that sparkling personality and glistening bravado and turned it into something else, into upset and violence. It reared its ugly head after only a few more minutes too, having to wait for anyone made him impatient, down right snappy. As though he could afford to be snappy with Chris. Didn't matter, he wasn't the first, and certainly wouldn't be the last to have his chops busted by the captain. Still, wear them down.

It didn't take them that much longer to get back to the Hummer, most heaving but they were fine. They were use to much more strenuous activities than that. The only difference was they were doing this as part of an exercise, no one was going to die. It made the change clear, that just the stress of activity like this set Piers on edge. He seemed wired, an adrenaline rush that shouldn't be present in a simple exercise such as this. A smirk crossed the man's features, examining his crew. Chris knew it good and well, whatever was wrong, he'd figure it out, he knew how men like Piers worked. Gripping a pack, Chris set it over his own huge shoulders, giving a nod toward the other packs. "Come on ladies, no time to change your tampons now." Another five miles. He'd tire them all out to get to seeing what his feelings about Piers was telling him. He didn't care what the others were saying, so far as this being unnecessary torture. Snickering hearing Andy groan about getting Chris a copy of the Geneva Convention so he knew just how many laws he was breaking making them suffer through Airhart's litany of singing of army songs. As he watched them all, Piers didn't seem to be giving any signs of wear. Whatever it was, it hadn't lost him his physical edge. The sniper clearly had the upper hand on not complaining. He'd always liked that about him. But without being able to see his expressions, his bitterness of the day before, he wouldn't be able to read him properly. That meant pushing him. He started to think that he wouldn't find out what he was getting himself into. He was determined to find any kind of sign, but there wasn't any. Not yet there wasn't, but they weren't going to play this game. They were going to find out what was wrong, and Chris would set him straight.

He waited without removing his pack for the others, barking orders at them like it wasn't completely out of ordinary having a rookie spouting orders, but the captain let him do it. They listened, so why stop him. Someone needed to be groomed for leadership, and up until now, there had been no one willing to step up and take command. Beside, the longer that boy screamed at their men, the more frazzled he would get, the easier it would be to get answers from him. The men came back obediently for the next order, Chris pulling up the rear yet again to make certain there were no stragglers; hurtling the pack from his shoulders with an effortless lob of the giant thing to the side, seeing his rookie complete the action before the others could pry it from their backs. "What's wrong team, forgot how to carry a survivor out of a kill zone?" That was the exact weight of the average survivor they were carrying on their backs, there was a reason for everything. "And trust me boys, there is no survivor with straps. Your all lucky I didn't make you bear hug that pack all the way." The obstacle course was a longer one than the one they had in the military. Of course, there was more they had to get use to than any other of the services. The order was five times, without their packs took a while, and this time the captain watched, making sure his men weren't lagging in those areas where a certain someone excelled. As Chris watched them, Piers seemed to be holding up just like he usually did. So, what was the kid hiding? What was it that was making him so jumpy. "Nivans! Get over here and give me some push-ups while the others catch up to you!"

Without a word, Piers walked over and looked at the man as if asking how many he should do. The look Chris gave back was answer enough. Until he told the sniper to stop, that meant there would be no stopping. Still, he had no signs. The closer he was to Chris the more it showed, the signs of wearing patience, the speed of his pushups wearing thinner the closer Chris got, circling him like a shark. What in the world? What was it that Chris couldn't see? He crossed his arms watching him, waiting for the rest of Alpha team to finish, pressing a boot against Piers' shoulder blades. "What's wrong soldier, tired already? I'm going to run you ragged all day. You think a few push ups are going tough?" He scoffed, lowering himself into a squat, his elbows rested on muscled legs to examine Piers form, the grit of his teeth at having to be treated just like what he was. Was that it? Pies didn't like being treated like a rookie? That made no sense at all, every soldier had to go through that kind of thing. It wouldn't be the first time. No... that wasn't it. "Finished yet boys, you can come watch Nivans put you all to shame. A hundred and nine push ups before one of you caught up to him, and still going." Chris chuckled, nudging his foot under Piers' ribcage, and shoving as he stood, rolling the sniper over to his back, but he was up in a heartbeat. Sharper than a tack. What did it take to wear that kid down? "Since you're in the mood for making them all look bad Nivans, seems like you've earned the privilege of skipping out on lunch. You boys go find some grub." It was an inverse, they all knew it, but it worked as a tactic of wearing a man down, jaw clenched and looking off to the side. "What do you say Nivans? Inverted situps?" He'd work him dead if he had to, though all he saw in those eyes was that same unending admiration. That and the side note of fear. Was it wrong for him to feel bad for this? Those hazel eyes of his had a way of conveying emotion in a way no other could, even when he was being pushed to physically do whatever it was his captain asked of him. But then, he always flourished when Chris asked him for things. He'd never fumbled before, only that day in the field, and that wasn't a fluke. Guys like Piers don't just fuck up like that and not have a reason. If the tawny haired little warrior was anything like he imagined he was, he knew why he was getting the corporal punishment. Soaked in sweat and hanging upside down, doing sit ups, without a show of wear. No... he was a soldier, that was for certain. "Had enough yet, Nivans? Ready to talk?" That was at fifty.

"Talk about what captain?"

Piers voice strained from the effort of pulling his body weight to be vertically upright, lowering himself without swinging his weight improperly. Impeccable form. "About you missing that shot the other day." Another few more, sweat pouring down the sniper's spine and making his upper body shine in the sun. He'd be tanner by the next day for all this, not that it didn't look nice on him. Even Jill liked teasing Chris over his new rookie, and how he was something good to look at. That was an understatement of course. Piers was more than good looking, particularly pulling his weight like that, teeth grit, and eyes clenched shut so he couldn't tell Chris was staring from behind him; his muscled body toned perfectly from ankle to his lithe shoulders. Geez. "We can keep doing this all day long if you'd like. After this, we'll start on the ropes." Piers grunted a response, pulling his weight up, unhooking himself from the bar, and dismounting the thing like a pro. He was haggard though, that was starting to show. Not sleeping at night? "Giving up?"

"Which rope first captain?" Damn... You want to play, fine. We'll play.


End file.
